


Mr Hot Breakdown Repair Man

by TheSparksofMagic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Human AU, M/M, Real Life, hella brief mention of past FRUK, like barely there at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:18:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2596718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSparksofMagic/pseuds/TheSparksofMagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Francis have broken down on their way back home; what can they do but wait for someone to come and rescue them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr Hot Breakdown Repair Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a oneshot that wouldn't stop bugging me until I wrote it, as it happened to me (ish). Me being Arthur of course.

“Look, Francis, it wasn't my fault the engine exploded, I'm not the one who didn't check the water level before we left-”

“Well, it certainly wasn't me who said that there was nothing wrong and there wasn't any weird bumping noises coming from the engine. You said we'd be, and I quote, “bloody fine, frog-face”.”

“Oi! I couldn't hear anything, I just thought you were going even madder than usual.”

“Just stop pacing would you, you've driving me crazy. It's not going to bring help any quicker and you'll just get cold and angry. Come sit down, I'll get the tea out.”

Huffing loudly, Arthur slumped himself down next to his long-time best friend, wordlessly accepting the proffered flask of tea. He stared at his car in front of him, with the bonnet up and the occasional puff of smoke leaking form it, and at the other cars zipping past on the busy road towards Milton Keynes, and pondered just trying to fix the bloody thing himself.  
A matching sigh came from beside him and he glanced up to find Francis' blue eyes level with his own green. A wry smile tilted up the corners of Arthur's lips at the sight of the dejected expression gracing Francis' tired and overshadowed features.

“We're never getting back to yours, are we? It's already been an hour and no-one's here yet.” he moaned, folding his arms over his shivering chest, his thin jacket not keeping the cold British night air away from his skin. “It's so _dark_ too.”

Staring blankly into the traffic, Arthur answered, “That's what happens at 10 o'clock at night, idiot, it gets dar- oh look! The break-down van!”

The distinctive fluorescent yellow van pulled smoothly into the lay-by Arthur and Francis had pushed the car into after smoke had begun spilling over the windscreen from under the bonnet, slowing to a stop in front of the bus shelter they'd crawled inside.

The van door banged open, and both men stood up to meet their saviour from death by frost; or possibly boredom.

Only when Arthur managed to take a look at the man's face, his thoughts flew from 'Oh thank God' to 'Oh my _God_ ' at the speed of a bullet, because the car-repair guy was the most gorgeous man he'd ever set eyes on. (Although, Francis would inject in the story telling later on, it was rather since Arthur had stopped watching BBC's Merlin and had partially forgotten about his impossible crush on Bradley James' arse.)

The man's hair was a wind-swept golden blond in the orange glow of the street lamps, strands flying away from the rest in a way that Arthur found unfairly attractive. His eyes were light and bright – and from what Arthur could tell, as blue as the summer sky.  
And really, he thought not at all dreamily, does his uniform shirt really need to be that tight and... and... show-offy?

A sharp cough snapped Arthur out of his reverie, and he soon realised that while he'd been staring at the man, said man had actually been doing his job, talking to Francis about the problem, and was now looking directly at him with a politely questioning expression. 

“Hmm?” Arthur tried to make a non-committal noise while glaring at Francis to bloody help him already. Francis rolled his eyes, mouthing 'he asked if you would mind being towed' behind the man's back.  
Snapping his eyes back up to Mr Pretty's face, he managed to stutter out a hasty, “No...?”

The man flashed a sunny Hollywood smile that made Arthur's insides squish down to mush ever so slightly, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Arthur melted down to goo. 

“Okay, Mr Kirkland, your friend here told me everything, and you ain't gonna be driving this baby any time soon, so I'm gonna tow you home. Are you okay with sitting in the van up front with me to guide me?”  
An American accent. Arthur was in heaven, and he found himself politely agreeing and moving to sit in the van while the man hooked up the van to his poor car without him even noticing. He sat in silence, idly peering at the all the bits and bobs scattered over the dashboard: a stack of business cards in a little holder; a pen stuck to the steering wheel; an American flag poked into the slats of the air con; a remote control with various buttons labelled in scrawling hand writing. 

A waft of cold night air sent a chill running down Arthur's spine as the man opened the door and climbed into the driving seat, then stuck his hand out towards Arthur.  
“I never introduced myself, did I?” the man said cheerfully, “I'm Alfred Jones, and I'm pretty sure your name's Arthur Kirkland, right? Call me Alfred.”

Arthur felt the heat flooding through his cheeks but he cocked an eyebrow compulsively, his lips twisting into a smirk. Sarcasm was something he could always fall back on; must be something to do with the Britishness.

“Wow, we've got a mind-reader over here! Can you read mine now? It's practically screaming at you to get going.” Arthur folded his arms, nodding towards the road. Alfred made a mock surrender gesture, then started the van, easing into the lanes of traffic.

The journey to Arthur's home was very different to what he had been expecting. Alfred's company was funny and engaging, if a bit infuriating for Arthur, who found himself slipping far too quickly into easy banter with the man for his liking. They swapped stories: their ages; their family; their hobbies; their favourite films. It seemed that the two were completely opposite people, but Arthur didn't care that Alfred was 4 years younger, an avid gamer and an American Football fan, because he found him utterly interesting. Their conversations were, on the whole, normal, but when they became more comfortable in each other's presence (which had to happen, since around half way into their journey, a traffic diversion sent them on an hour long trip to end up almost a mile from where they had been diverted in the first place) the topics became more... personal.

“So, Arthur, I was meaning to ask... Is Mr Bonnefoy your, um, boyfriend? You just seemed very, erm, close earlier...” Alfred's face was turned away towards the road, but Arthur could practically feel the heat of embarrassment steaming off of him. 

“No way! Francis is my best friend, that'd be so weird and gross, he's such so... so bloody French...!” Arthur wasn't sure if it was actually possible to simultaneously find a situation disgusting and hilarious, but he was certain he was doing so.

“Oh, I just, you know, thought?”

“Well, if you must know, we were together for a bit, but it was horrible. So we're now really good friends. What about you?” Here, Arthur bit his lip, wondering if he wanted to hear the answer. “Do you have a girlfriend at home, or, boyfriend or something.”

Alfred's reaction was so off the mark that it broke Arthur's well used scale.

“No, I broke up with my latest boyfriend recently. Why, you interested?”

All the blood in Arthur's body rushed to his cheeks so fast that he could feel his heart beat in them, and he threw his hands up to hide the red glow. 

“Jesus Christ, you can't just, I mean, not that I don't find you, um, a-attractive, I just only-” he tried to muffle his answer in his palms, but he couldn't come out with a direct no, since... well...

“Only, I am. And oh, look, this is your street, am I right?” Alfred grin stretched across his whole face, his eyes coy and wide. Peeking over his hands, Arthur realised that, yes, this was his street, and that the van had stopped, and he had to go.

He cleared his throat to try and regain some of his pride. “Thank you, Alfred. What do I need to do to pay you...?” 

Alfred pressed a few buttons on one of the many machines scattered across the dashboard, then swivelled it towards Arthur.  
“Put your card in here, type the pin in, you know the drill. I just need to write out a receipt.”

It was only after Arthur had sat down in his house with a bottle of beer that he unfolded the receipt that Alfred had pressed into his hand with a flirty wink as he had pushed him out of the van. Francis had retired to bed, complaining that Arthur's stupid English car had ruined his beauty sleep and that he wasn't to be woken up until at least noon.  
Unfortunately, that wasn't to be the case, as when Arthur read the scribbled writing on the receipt he had let out a shriek that pierced the walls. The note fell out of stunned hands and floated in silence to the ground, watched by wide green eyes, the red ink facing up.

Alfred F Jones 07XX XXX XX  
Hope you find me as cute as I find you! Call me ;)

A choked laugh forced it's way out of Arthur's throat. He was _never_ going to hear the end of this.


End file.
